Circles
by MermaidMidna
Summary: She whispers in his ear, telling him all the wonderful things he'd never hear if he was conscious. He's beautiful. He's witty. He's hysterical. He's got her heart and she doesn't even realize it until she tells his immobile body these things.


**AN: Fic for December'sRose DN contest!!! I don't really know what to say about this one. I hope you like it… because I'm still unsure. I don't own LWD. Or Jell-O. Yeah, life sucks.**

She dances her way in circles in his mind, just as gracefully as she does on stage. There's the movement of her hips and a satisfied moan escapes from his lips, the first sign of life he's shown since God knows when. And she spins faster than the wheels on a car. She has more elegance than the Queen of England and he knows it. If only he would open his eyes and see her hovering over him. There are circles under her eyes as if someone took charcoal and traced a round pattern over her cheeks. There are no tears left to cry as she has already lost them all, all over him. Literally. Her hair falls over her imperfections, masking the emotions she knows will come spilling from her guts any moment now. She feels nauseous just looking at him, but she manages to keep her dinner down.

How incongruous is it that he looks so peaceful lying there? He barely moves but he keeps a silent smile on his face. That's the best that can be said for the condition he's in. She takes a trembling finger and traces the red lines on his face. If he ever recovers, there will be scars that form there. Not the white kind either, but the deep red ones that make you like you're a brave warrior, a noble Ivanhoe. If he makes it out of here, he'll be a hero. Her hero.

She whispers in his ear, telling him all the wonderful things he'd never hear if he was conscious. He's beautiful. He's witty. He's hysterical. He's got her heart and she doesn't even realize it until she tells his immobile body these things. She realizes it's pathetic that she would be able to tell him this now, to figure this out when he's on his deathbed. But she kisses his forehead anyway, smelling what could only be his scent. There is none like it in the world.

Now he's seeing her once again in his dreams, her hair flowing out behind her in long waves, turning into streams of water. He doesn't understand what he's seeing but it's stunning. The girl with the long brown hair is dancing again, and he's smiling again. He stirs in his deep sleep, and she sits up at the new activity, her face anxious and fretful, wondering if those dark eyes of his will ever open again.

There's a pain in her heart that weighs her down, and it's not from the accident either. It's hard just to move, to breathe, to _think_. She wonders if this is how it's going to end, her life forever engulfed in darkness. She takes a great shuddering breath and tries not to gawk at him anymore, because that will only make it worse. Staring at the white walls surrounding her, she wonders how long she's been there. It had to have been hours… She's curious as to why they let her stay that long, but she is grateful that they have let her stay by his side for every breath he takes.

Maybe it was because she nearly killed herself when they took him away. Maybe it was the fact that she pounded on the doors of her ward, trying to get answers, her knuckles bleeding, so numb she wasn't even feeling the pain. Maybe if they would have left her in there without him, she would have drowned herself in her own tears, or flung herself out of the window when they weren't looking. She realizes now that she was close to that point. Until they took her to him.

Why did they paint the walls white? Couldn't they have found a better color, one for the patients when they awoke? Like yellow, or blue, or green? Something that reminds them that they're alive and going to make it. She flattens the sheets on his bed and dares herself to look at him again. Is it just her, or is he looking worse than before?

Now she's dancing around pillars of fire, her hair engulfed in flames, her arms moving this way and that as she tries to dodge the imminent danger. His smile fades as she falls to the ground, her dress turning to ash. He tries to cry out to her, but no words escape his mouth. Instead, his eyes flicker open for a brief second, and his hand twitches.

She gasps, grabbing his trembling hand and entwining it in her own. Just as she predicted, his hand is rough and warm, her own cold and clammy. Her fingers from her free hand wander up his arm, feeling the blisters and the gauze that's wrapped around his upper arm. Her hand moves to his face and she touches his coarse, dry lips. Why are they so arid? She decides to wet them with her own. She slowly leans over, her nose touching his and a curtain of her dark hair falling over his face, shielding them from the rest of the world.

When lips collide she feels her chest tighten and her heart beat wildly. Even though he's not kissing her back, it's still better than she could have ever imagined. His flavor is sweeter than any substance she's ever tasted, better than honey, better than ice cream, better than _chocolate_. She smiles against his lips, knowing how wrong it is to kiss someone who has no power over the situation, but it feels so _right_. The moment becomes more intimate as her hand makes its way to his chest and she feels his heart pounding. She hears the heart rate on the monitor beeping wildly.

Now he's carrying her lifeless body out of the smoldering building, practically retching as he coughs from the smoke surrounding him. All he cares about is getting her out alive. They're the only two there and no one can hear his screams as a piece of the ceiling falls down on his arm, setting his shirt ablaze. The only option he has now is hoisting the girl over his good shoulder and trying to make it out before his whole body catches fire. The flames are dancing around him, but not as the girl danced. They are wild and untamed and threatening, making their way ever closer to him. Their fiery red orange hands reach for him, their claws marring his face. He pushes through them, not letting them get a hold of the precious girl he is protecting. Then he is falling, falling, falling into an abyss. And the darkness engulfs him.

Suddenly there is a warm hand on the side of her face, and lips pressing feebly against hers. She almost pulls back in shock, but then deepens the kiss, ecstatic that he is awake and returning her gesture. He is unable to sit up, but brushes his fingers along her cheek, feeling her cool, smooth skin. He saved her. If he hadn't have done anything, her face would be like his, blistered and crimson. But he didn't care about the way he looked. She was safe, and that was all that mattered.

They finally pull back and her face is glowing. She looks like an angel hanging over him. And he's worried that he might already be dead and in heaven. But he can feel her breath on his face, and he knows his dream is over and he awoke to life, not death. Then about ten people rush in wearing lab coats or scrubs, their eyes smiling. They know now that he will be okay. And she stays by his side as they all laugh and joke about the 'kiss of life.' And she'll stay by his side forever.

She dances her way in circles into his heart, just as gracefully as she does on stage.


End file.
